Farewell to Lancashire

by Anna Jacobs

  Those not assigned to cooking had to clean their bunks and the space around them, airing bedding regularly. There were strict rules about cleanliness on board ship.

  He was lucky in his group. They were all young and friendly, and none was a trouble-maker.

  To pass the rest of the time, there were reading groups set up, a class in astronomy, which taught them to recognise the different stars in the southern hemisphere, and lessons on agriculture in Western Australia, offered by a farmer returning after a visit to his relatives in England.

  The latter was one of the rare classes which both emigrants and cabin passengers were allowed to attend, because the farmer, James Havercock, wasn’t in the least snobbish about a man’s background. Francis was the only cabin passenger who continued to attend, however. The others dropped out when they found that James wanted them to work with his animals to learn the practicalities. Some of the poor beasts were penned below and were very unhappy about that, while the smaller ones were in crates on deck.

  What sort of farmer didn’t want to get his hands dirty? Reece wondered. Did these gentlemen think the work did itself? Didn’t they realise that skilled labour was in short supply in the colony? He’d learned that now, knew his own worth and realised that Francis was lucky to have him for two years.

  Like him, several of the emigrants from steerage went to every talk on farming. And some of the ways they learned to do things were different from in England. But when Reece asked the farmer about cheese making, the man laughed, said he didn’t bother with that, hadn’t the time or the skill. Folk didn’t eat a lot of cheese when there was meat to be had so easily.

  That made Reece thoughtful. He’d helped his cousin make cheese and it wasn’t all that difficult. Maybe that was something he could do later to make money.

  As people got to know one another better, he found out that most of the passengers had relatives or acquaintances who had sponsored them, because you had to have permission to settle in the colony of Western Australia. They thought he’d be allowed to sponsor Cassandra if she was coming out to marry him.

  Some men were relatives of expirees who had been transported for various crimes, had served their time and either gained a ticket of leave or a conditional pardon. As long as they didn’t re-offend, they could work for wages or set themselves up in business, according to their backgrounds. And if they could afford the fares, could send for their families.

  To add to the complications of life in Australia, it seemed respectable people didn’t associate with ticket of leave men and their families socially, but then the gentry wouldn’t associate with Reece socially, either. As one young Irishman said, as long as he, his mother and two sisters were able to be with his father again, they wouldn’t care about what anyone else thought of them.

  One moonlit night, Reece talked about Cassandra to this man, because Patrick knew what it was like to be separated from someone you loved, even though a father wasn’t the same as the woman you wanted to marry.

  ‘You should definitely send for her,’ his new friend advised. ‘Don’t wait. Do it as soon as you can afford to pay her fare. If she loves you as you love her, she’ll not mind facing hardships at your side.’

  As the voyage progressed, the cool weather of the English Channel and the Bay of Biscay gave way to the heat of the Tropics and then to cooler weather again. As they drew closer to their destination, Reece waited impatiently to arrive and get on with things.

  In June the sisters could all tell that their father was failing fast and wept together about this, but not where he could overhear them.

  One evening Edwin lay back on his bed and gestured to Cassandra to take away the bowl, from which he’d had only a few spoonfuls.

  She blinked away the tears she couldn’t hold back as she put it down, hoping he’d not noticed. But he had, of course.

  ‘Don’t cry, lass.’

  ‘How can I help it, Dad? I don’t want you to leave us.’

  ‘We all die, love. No one can avoid that.’

  She didn’t trust her voice and tried in vain to hold back the sobs.

  ‘How many times have I told you not to worrit about things you can’t alter?’ he chided in a fond tone.

  That made her smile fleetingly. ‘More times than I can remember.’

  ‘It’s my time to die – I feel that. And if it wasn’t for leaving you girls – well, I’d be glad to go. This is no sort of life for anyone, lying in bed day after day, useless to myself and to you. I’ve missed your mother, shall be glad to see her again. I’ve done my best, my very best, to live a good life – and to look after those I love, so I doubt I’ll be going to hell.’

  He stared into the distance as if he saw things Cassie didn’t. He’d been doing this often during the last few days and he looked so peaceful she sat quietly, not wanting to disturb his dreams. Gradually the tears dried on her cheeks and when he reached out for her, she placed her hand in his.

  ‘I’ve spoken to my brother and Joseph has promised he’ll not let you girls want, my dear one.’

  ‘That’s kind of him.’ She looked down at their clasped hands, both thin, the long, elegant bones showing clearly.

  ‘Cassandra ...’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘Remember how happy you were when they started fighting to free the slaves in America? How hopeful for those poor souls?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, this war’s achieved that, so it’s not all been bad. Now you must wait just a little longer for the fighting to end. You’ve been so brave ... haven’t complained. I’m proud of you ... proud of the others in Lancashire, too.’

  Another silence, then, ‘And I want to thank you for all you’ve done to help me since your mother died. You looked after your sisters better than anyone could have expected, young as you were – though at the expense of your own happiness, I fear.’

  ‘I love them. I don’t regret the choices I made.’

  ‘I’m glad to see such love between my children. But now – go and find your own happiness if you get the chance. You’ve earned it. Reece is a good man. I trust him to be a fitting helpmeet for you.’

  ‘If he sends for me, I’ll go.’ She didn’t dare let herself hope for too much, though she doubted her feelings for Reece would ever change. Life had a way of turning your plans upside down.

  Joseph continued to worry about his wife and to be wary of her. She’d begun muttering to herself when she thought she was on her own, often stared at him blankly when he spoke to her, as if she didn’t understand what he was saying. Then she’d jerk to attention and ask him to repeat what he’d said.

  When others were around, Isabel was much more careful, though, speaking softly and flattering the women she called her friends. She still visited them regularly and picked up all the gossip. She must have eavesdropped on what was said in the shop as well, because she seemed aware of everything that was going on in the town.

  ‘It won’t be long before your stupid brother dies,’ she said one evening, beaming at him as if this was good news.

  Joseph clamped his lips together and ignored the remark, determined not to let her provoke him. He turned the page of his newspaper, though he hadn’t taken in a word.

  She ripped it from his grasp, tearing it to shreds and laughing shrilly as she did so. ‘When I speak, I expect you to listen to me. I bought you with this shop –’ she waved one hand in a wide gesture, ‘– and you must pay the agreed price, Joseph Blake, which was to abandon your family. You must and shall pay the price.’

  ‘I’ve paid too dearly already.’

  ‘So have I. And am still paying. Do you think I don’t know about the food you send them, food paid for with my money? I’ve let you do it, let my friends think I approve. But I don’t! It’s stealing from me.’

  ‘You’d see them starve? My sick brother too?’

  ‘I’d laugh as I watched them starve to death. Laugh, I tell you.’

  As abruptly as she’d started ranting, she s
at down, picked up some needlework and gazed down at it. But she didn’t set a stitch, merely stared at it fixedly for the next hour.

  And though he cleared up the fragments of newspaper, picked up a book and turned its pages now and then, he had no idea of what he’d read.

  Things had reached an impasse between them, he decided. That was the word. One day something would happen to break it – but who would be the winner, himself or his wife, he couldn’t tell. She was cunning as well as vicious.

  And he was very tired of dealing with her.

  8

  In July the Eena arrived at Fremantle, which the steward said was the port for Perth, the capital of Western Australia, which lay a few miles up the river Swan. Reece could smell the land long before they reached it. The livestock must also have realised something was different because cocks began to crow, sheep to bleat and cattle to low. This all added to the sense of excitement rising in him.

  The first land to come into view was a low-lying island called Rottnest, seen first as a smudge on the horizon.

  ‘Rat’s nest, that means in Dutch,’ one passenger said.

  Reece couldn’t hold back a wry smile. The man had been showing off his knowledge throughout the voyage till people were sick of him.

  ‘There are animals on that island that look like rats, but they’re not. They’ve got pouches to carry their young, like kangaroos. Quokkas, they’re called.’

  ‘I don’t believe him,’ another passenger muttered. ‘Who’d call an animal by such a stupid-sounding name?’

  Reece stayed near the boaster, wondering if all he said was true.

  To the passengers’ surprise there wasn’t a proper harbour at Fremantle and because of a sand bar across the Swan River, the ship dropped anchor in Gage Roads. And there it rested opposite the town, which looked more like a child’s drawing to Reece than a proper town. Houses were dotted here and there as if at random. The largest building to be seen was the prison, a long white building on a hilltop, though it was only a low hill not even as high as the moors back in Lancashire. In fact, there was nothing grand or beautiful about the scenery and he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. When you came so far, you expected ... more than this, something exotic – special.

  To add to their disappointment, the ordinary passengers were unable to disembark until the following day and could only crowd at the rail, staring longingly at the land and speculating about what they saw.

  Because he was there as a servant of the Southerhams, Reece was one of the earliest of the emigrants to leave the ship. Francis’s cousin Paul had come to meet them and he shook hands with Reece as well as his relatives, which was a surprise. A gentleman wouldn’t do that in England.

  They went for a short walk to get used to being on land again. At first it felt as if the ground were still moving beneath them like the deck of a ship, and Livia clung to her husband’s arm, laughing at herself. But that sensation gradually wore off.

  A short thoroughfare led up from the water to the main street, where there were a few handsome houses set cheek by jowl with others of a meaner appearance.

  ‘Most of the bigger houses belong to the government,’ Paul Southerham explained. ‘Or to the few men who’ve made fortunes here or brought money out to the colony. Our own house isn’t nearly as grand as these, I’m afraid. It’s only rented, though fortunately there is a spare bedroom for you and Livia.’ He turned to Reece. ‘There’s a small room at the end of the veranda, which I hope you’ll find comfortable.’

  There were a few shops, but Reece noticed Paul called them ‘stores’. Further on they stopped for a moment to study a church, situated where two streets divided. The building wasn’t at all beautiful but was bigger than he’d have expected for such a small town.

  ‘The other church is Roman Catholic.’ Paul turned up his nose in scorn even as he pointed it out.

  Reece hid a smile. Even here, it seemed, people had to stay separate for their religious observances, though they were worshipping the same god.

  Fremantle, he decided, looked unfinished more than anything, with unpaved footpaths and streets that had houses here and there, as if waiting for the gaps to be filled in by other buildings.

  They strolled back to the Swan River and boarded a small paddle steamer which took them up to Perth, some fourteen miles away by water. The river widened out almost immediately and there were some fine vistas of forested land and then some even wider reaches of water, which could have held a large fleet of ships. This scenery was a pleasure to look at.

  Reece left the Southerhams to themselves and got chatting to a man who lived in the Colony. He found out that Perth lay on the north bank of the river and beyond it, further up the river, was a small town called Guildford.

  As they approached the city, he saw it was most attractively situated. It contained some large buildings and when he asked about the most imposing of these, he found it was the new Roman Catholic cathedral. He was delighted to have fig trees pointed out to him, as large as the horse chestnuts he’d obtained conkers from as a lad. Some shrubs full of pink blossoms were oleanders.

  ‘You get flowers everywhere in the spring,’ his companion told him. ‘Just wait till you see it then. There’s nowhere as beautiful. Look! That’s a flock of white-tailed black cockatoos.’

  A shrieking cloud of the parrot-like birds wheeled and dived around some trees and then disappeared, sounding as if they were squabbling.

  Even the air tasted different here, fresh and untainted by anything other than the occasional drift of woodsmoke. Reece remembered the sooty air of Outham and thought of Cassandra, still breathing that air. What was she doing now? Sleeping probably. It’d be night in Lancashire.

  The rest of the capital city seemed little more than a higgledy-piggledy collection of buildings. The street leading up from the river was covered with soft sand, making walking difficult, especially for the ladies of the party.

  ‘You’ll grow used to it,’ Paul said. ‘It’s very sandy here but at least that helps the winter rain drain away quickly. Our home is a little out of town and it’s getting late, so I’ve taken rooms at a hotel for tonight.’

  ‘It’ll be wonderful to sleep in a proper bed again,’ Livia said feelingly. ‘Those bunks on the ship were dreadfully narrow.’

  Reece supposed he was lucky that they remembered to include him in their conversations from time to time, but he was very conscious that he was merely a servant.

  He felt full of energy – ready to go out and make his own life, not help another man make his.

  When they got to the hotel, it looked to Reece more like a house, and not a particularly large one, either, though it had a sign outside saying it was a hotel. There was no comfort of a proper bed for him. He found himself relegated to a dormitory in a shed at the rear. Here were men on their own, both gentlemen and servants, to his surprise.

  The roof and walls of the shed were made of tin, rusty in patches. But it was waterproof at least, which was a good thing, because that evening the rain poured down heavily, bouncing up a foot off the ground and misting the world with grey.

  ‘Does it always rain so hard?’ he asked the man occupying the next bunk.

  ‘Not always. Don’t worry. It doesn’t usually go on for long, so when it pours down this heavily, just find some cover and wait for it to pass.’

  Reece went to bed early because he wasn’t the sort to go out drinking. He found it hard to get to sleep and lay thinking about his situation. He’d promised Francis two years’ work of whatever sort was needed in return for his passage being paid. At least he’d had the sense to include the passage time in that, but still, only three months had passed. It was very frustrating to be tied to another man like this, especially one who didn’t seem very practical, for all his fine words.

  Stretching his tired body, Reece grimaced as his head hit the wall at the end of his hard bed. When he turned over carelessly a short time later, he nearly fell out of the narrow bunk. The rain sounded
to have stopped now, but the air was still heavy with moisture.

  As soon as the Southerhams found a home and he had a proper address, he’d write to Cassandra and tell her all his news. He’d kept a diary of sorts on the ship, just occasional jottings, but it had helped pass the time, and it’d provide him with a record of what had happened. He might even copy some of it out for her.

  But it would take so long to communicate. Three months at least to send a letter to England once a ship departed, another three months to get a reply. For the umpteenth time he asked himself why he’d been so stupid as to leave her.

  Was Edwin Blake still alive? He didn’t think it likely. But surely the girls’ uncle would look after them if their father died? Perhaps if Cassandra agreed to marry Reece, Joseph would lend his nieces the money for their fares and they could all come out here. That would make her happier, he was sure. Her sisters would soon find husbands. Already, from the men’s talk in this bunkhouse, Reece had found out how short they were of women in this colony. One woman to every ten men, someone said, if you counted the convicts.

  They even brought women out to Western Australia on what were jokingly referred to as ‘bride ships’. Imagine that.

  He was just starting to feel drowsy when he heard voices outside in the back garden. He’d have ignored them, but came fully awake when he realised it was Francis and Paul Southerham – and they were arguing.

  Should he find out what it was about? It was wrong to eavesdrop, but he was on his own in Australia with only his wits to rely on, so he rolled out of the bunk. Creeping across the dirt floor to the door, he opened it quietly and slipped outside on to the rough planks of the veranda, sitting on a bench in one corner, hidden behind a shrub, to listen to what the two gentlemen were saying as they stood nearby on the veranda of the main hotel.

  Francis saw his wife up to bed, making the excuse that he wanted a breath of fresh air before he retired. He contained his anger until he and his cousin Paul were outside, standing at the end of the back veranda of the hotel. Then the words would no longer be held back.